


Catjolras

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Multi, THESE TWO I CAN'T, background Joly/Bossuet/Musichetta, grantaire has a cat named cat, grantaire worships lana del rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire has a System for finals.</p><p>There’s only so much of the System that Courfeyrac can take, though, and he’s hiding out in Enjolras’ apartment to study, along with most of the rest of Les Amis, when Eponine gets there. </p><p>“R?” she guesses, and Courfeyrac nods glumly, glancing back at his notes on Hegel.</p><p>“Did you know that he worships Lana Del Rey?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catjolras

Grantaire has a System for finals.

His System is a simple one. The first step involves grocery shopping with Courfeyrac, who has adopted the System, at least in part. Cheap vodka, instant mac ‘n’ cheese, and at least four pounds of ground coffee to go with the several bags of instant coffee. The ground coffee he will actually make. The instant coffee will be eaten with a spoon.

The second step involves putting on music.

The third step involves not sleeping until he passes out from exhaustion.

The fourth step involves waking up and repeating from step two.

\------

There’s only so much of the System that Courfeyrac can take, though, and he’s hiding out in Enjolras’ apartment to study, along with most of the rest of Les Amis, when Eponine gets there. They’ve taken up residence in the living room; Jehan is curled up on the coffee table, Joly and Combeferre are huddled in one corner of the sofa looking over their notes together, and Cosette and Marius are sharing an arm chair. Courfeyrac has taken the other, and he looks up at Eponine with an expression of utter despair.

“R?” she guesses, and Courfeyrac nods glumly, glancing back at his notes on Hegel.

“Did you know that he worships Lana Del Rey?”

From where he’s standing in the kitchen Enjolras snorts loudly enough to make Jehan squeak and fall off the table in surprise. Bahorel is making everyone sandwiches while Enjolras and Musichetta work on preparing hot chocolate for everyone. “I’m not surprised,” Chetta says, bumping her hip affectionately against Enjolras’. “She’s sad and sings about drugs and unhealthy relationship dynamics. She was born for him.”

“No. She was born to die. I know this because I heard that song twelve times this morning before coming over here.” Courfeyrac looks pained when he admits this. “Do you know what else I know? I know that her man is a bad man but she can’t deny the way he holds her hand. I got to fall asleep to that one last night. I’m never going back there.”

Eponine finds this far more amusing than she should and makes a mental note to steal Courfeyrac’s iPod and replace everything on it with Lana Del Rey before settling on the other end of the sofa. “Where’s Bossuet?” she asks, tucking her legs under her, and Enjolras comes out to bring her a cup of hot chocolate first. He’s sprinkled cinnamon in it, just like he has since high school, and he presses a quick kiss to the top of her head before setting the cup down in front of her.

“He and Feuilly are coming later. Feuilly’s at work and Bossuet’s on Grantaire-sitting duty.”

The last time they’d left Grantaire alone during finals week he’d had to take two of his finals almost a month later because he’d ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning and severe malnutrition. Enjolras and Courfeyrac had both ended up half moved in to his hospital room, sleeping in the uncomfortable chairs provided for family, since Grantaire’s family didn’t even bother to call, let alone visit (except for his younger sister, who, at sixteen, couldn’t exactly up and leave with no warning to drive across the country, but ended up on the phone with them for at least twenty minutes per day, demanding regular updates).

It isn’t a mistake any of them are willing to make again. So one of them is always there, checking in every few hours to sneak Grantaire some food and replace some of his coffee with decaf.

“I hope he likes Lana Del Rey,” Courfeyrac whines softly.

Chetta and Enjolras finish bringing out the hot chocolates just as Eponine gets settled into the sofa, and Enjolras squeezes in next to her. They maneuver around quietly for a moment until somehow their legs are tangled together and she’s got one hand in his hair and he’s drinking her hot chocolate. They’ve been best friends as long as they can remember and Enjolras has been physical in his affection practically since infancy. He’s big on casual touches but he goes all out with Eponine, who usually just pets his hair to keep him from fidgeting.

Bahorel finishes the sandwiches and brings out a huge platter, which he rests precariously on Jehan’s back, as the poet has decided to sprawl out on his stomach and take up the entire coffee table. Musichetta’s about four years older than all of them, and graduated a couple years ago, but she stays to look after them; her family lives in Malaysia, for the most part. She’d met Joly while traveling one summer, and upon meeting Bossuet the three had simply gotten an apartment together, one with a giant bathtub and an even bigger bed. They all tell different stories of how they met and Eponine’s fairly sure that only she and Cosette know how it actually happened.

As such, with most of her family halfway around the world, she stays with her boys and their friends, and she’s made them her family here. She’s so gorgeous it almost hurts to look at her—dark brown eyes, thick black curls that fall past her elbows, the most perfectly shaped mouth ever created. Her skin, a rich tawny color, is clear, and her cheekbones are high and sharp. It helps that she’s an incredibly talented singer, a classically trained mezzo, and she’s as desperately in love with her boys as they are with her and each other. She tends to mother Les Amis, even if they’re all secretly in love with her.

They’re eating and chatting between furious bouts of memorization while Musichetta is helping Jehan study Victorian poets when Joly’s phone vibrates. “Bossuet’s on his way over,” he says. “Who’s taking the next shift?”

Enjolras untangles himself from Eponine. “I’ve got this. Did we make him extra food?” he asks, and Bahorel nods, looking at Enjolras knowingly. Enjolras ignores the glance and simply collects his books to dump into a bag.

He’s gone within ten minutes, and Eponine tries and fails not to snicker when Courfeyrac starts humming ‘Diet Mountain Dew’ before actually wailing.

\------

_I will love you to the end of time_

_I would wait a million years_

Enjolras makes a face as he approaches the apartment, filled with a sudden admiration for Courfeyrac as he opens the door. The music is so loud that it feels like the walls are shaking, and it’s a wonder that none of their neighbors have complained yet. Grantaire’s bedroom door is closed; Enjolras gently tries the doorknob, and it’s locked, so he simply sets his backpack down, unpacks the sandwiches he’d brought for Grantaire, helps himself to one of the beers in the refrigerator, and sits at the kitchen table to get some of his own work done.

It turns out that the sad drugs and unhealthy relationship dynamics all blend together after a little while, and Enjolras has managed to completely tune out any noise besides the scratching of his pen against his notebooks. What he can’t ignore, though, is Cat.

Cat is, frankly, terrifying. Since Grantaire adopted him a year and a half ago Cat has discovered that he has two life ambitions. The first is to be a dog. The second is to kill Enjolras.

Enjolras has no idea why Cat targets him but he’s got scars up both legs from the countless times that Cat has launched himself at Enjolras and tried to dismember him. If he’s being honest he’ll admit that when he and Cat battle, everyone knows who’s going to win, and it’s not the human.

Cat is sitting on the kitchen table watching Enjolras copy his notes with narrowed eyes. He hasn’t moved for twenty-six minutes straight except for the slow swish of his tail back and forth and Enjolras is almost entirely certain that if Cat makes any sudden movements, he’ll piss himself with fear. The furry little shit seems to be enjoying himself, and closes his eyes before swiveling his head around to start cleaning himself; just as Enjolras starts to relax Cat fixes his eyes on the blond head of curls again.

There’s the occasional thump from Grantaire’s room that honestly sounds more like him falling off the bed or rolling into something, which is hardly unheard of from Grantaire, In fact, the only thing to suggest that Grantaire might be awake is when Enjolras turns the stereo off and there’s a sudden crash of glass against his bedroom door; Cat watches Enjolras smugly as he turns the music back on with a scowl and sits back down.

After a while Cat stands and walks over to Enjolras, who is not above flipping the table over to give himself time to escape, but instead of clawing at him, he simply flops onto his side, half on top of Enjolras’ notes. Enjolras lifts one hand warily to brush across the sandy brown fur; when Cat doesn’t try to rip his hand off he relaxes a bit.

He doesn’t realize how exhausted he is until he falls asleep at the kitchen table, his head on his arms and still on top of his textbook, and Cat shifts over to lay half on Enjolras’ face.

They’re still like this when Grantaire’s bedroom door finally opens, at least an hour later.

\------

Enjolras wakes to a great weight being removed from the vicinity of his face and a good-natured chuckle. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and he opens his eyes slowly, languidly, to Grantaire sitting across from him with a strange and almost secretive expression on his face. It’s gentle, it’s soft, it’s sweet, and it’s genuinely affectionate.

Grantaire, who _he_ was supposed to be looking out for, is watching him sleep.

He sits up so quickly he makes himself dizzy, and Grantaire chuckles again before digging his spoon into the pint of ice cream he’s holding again. “I didn’t think you guys were serious about babysitting me this time,” he teases, and Enjolras rubs the back of his neck, watching Cat pad over to Grantaire and nuzzle his face before licking at the ice cream. Grantaire either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“I got out here fifteen minutes ago and you were totally out, so probably a while.”

He looks exhausted—his face is oddly gaunt, likely from the combination malnutrition and fatigue, likely increased exponentially by the fact that he’s eating ice cream with instant coffee crystals sprinkled across the top.

“Christ.” Enjolras sighs, his chest constricting a bit with worry and guilt. He was meant to be looking after Grantaire. He was meant to be making sure Grantaire was alright. If he’s not… but he seems as fine as they can expect, he supposes, and so he bites his lip to keep himself from ranting and making this about him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m great, Apollo.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” His face and hands are covered in ink and drying paints and despite his exhaustion he looks almost pleased. “When did you and Cat strike an alliance?”

Enjolras just shrugs tiredly, and before he can stop himself leans over to brush his thumb across Grantaire’s cheek to try and wipe clean some of the still-wet paint. All he wants to do right now is stroke the backs of his fingers across the stubble on Grantaire’s jaw (feel the rough scrape of that stubble between bare thighs) and he blames the disorientation of waking up on a table in someone else’s apartment in the middle of the day to _Lana Del fucking Rey_ but he does, knuckles brushing across skin and hair, both possessive and reverent and wholly unsure. Grantaire’s breathing hitches at this new touch and there’s something so vulnerable about him watching his Apollo with wide grey eyes that remind Enjolras of the dead of winter.

When Grantaire looks at him like that Enjolras wants to brush his hair back (fist his hand in those curls) or maybe take his hand (memorize the shape of the inside of his mouth with his tongue) or even just sit next to him, their shoulders pressed together (leave a trail of kisses like breadcrumbs across every inch of him to say _mine, mine, mine_ ). Instead he withdraws his hand, busying himself with gathering his notes together while Grantaire stares after him in surprise.

If Grantaire notices the way Enjolras brushes those knuckles across his lips very lightly, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he clears his throat.

“I haven’t eaten anything substantial today,” he says hesitantly. “And I saw something that looked like sandwiches. Have you? Eaten, I mean.”

Since their fight and subsequent forgiveness of one another following the incident with the locked door, Enjolras has been careful to avoid thinking about Grantaire, even if he’s calling him a bit more often than usual. Especially if every time he thinks of Grantaire there’s a warm, gentle coiling in the pit of his stomach. Nothing’s changed. That’s what scares Enjolras. Nothing has changed. They’re still exactly the same, and Enjolras’ feelings towards Grantaire haven’t shifted a bit.

They’ve always been like this, then, and he’s just been too stubborn to notice, and now all he wants is to be touching Grantaire every opportunity he can and with Grantaire sitting across from him with that frankly indecent facial hair (he wants to feel his neck and jaw and lips rubbed raw on it) and with paint on his arms and hands and neck and the thin tee shirt he’s wearing (he wants Grantaire to leave him with matching paint stains across his skin, and he’s _so tired_ of being clean and untouched) and smelling of cigarettes and coffee (he wants to taste that mouth so thoroughly he can never forget the bitterness and the ash) he’s feeling a bit undone.

“I haven’t,” he says finally, clearing his throat and reaching out to steal Grantaire’s spoon, which he digs into the nearly forgotten pint of ice cream.

“Let’s do that whole lunch thing, then,” Grantaire suggests, “and you can make sure I eat a balanced meal for once and we can sit on something comfortable and then get back to selling our souls to the education system.”

“Sounds good.”

Grantaire grins like he’s just won the lottery, and as he stands and walks over to the fridge to get the sandwiches, he brushes his fingers lightly across the back of Enjolras’ neck. “Thanks for looking out for me, Apollo,” he says, his voice soft, and it might just be the sweetest sound Enjolras has ever heard.

**Author's Note:**

> GOSH WOW YOU ARE ALL SO GREAT
> 
> -inspired by a prompt from the lovely Hester (wutheringss)  
> -Not just one, but two positively lovely people made me graphics, to be found at these links: http://wutheringss.tumblr.com/post/41453300653/talk-revolution-to-me-baby and http://queenallisonargent.tumblr.com/post/41385548544/marius-he-smells-wonderful-and-it-feels-a-little  
> -friendly reminder that I, like Lana, will love you until the end of time if you make me graphics and that you can tag them with 'duskjolras' (my URL) or 'talk revolution to me baby' on Tumblr (in the first five tags) so I can see them  
> -I actually do enjoy Lana Del Rey  
> -Eponine changes Courf's ringtone to Born to Die  
> -I imagine Chetta as looking like Natassia Malthe, for anyone interested.
> 
> I've also got some beautiful prompts in my inbox on Tumblr and have been posting drabbles there; if you're all interested I can post them here as well in a separate series? They're not in any sort of chronological order and I can indicate the universe they're from.
> 
> ANYWAY YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL LOVE YOU ALL FACEKISSES FOR EVERYONE (if you like facekisses and if not just have a fruit basket or something bc fruit is delish)
> 
> <3


End file.
